


The Obligatory Sick Fic

by Redqueenswrath



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Sam Winchester, Castiel Is So Done, Dean is a Little Shit, Gabriel with a stomach virus, M/M, Sick Gabriel (Supernatural), Sickfic, emetophobic Gabriel, hexes, nurturing sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 02:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14368983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redqueenswrath/pseuds/Redqueenswrath
Summary: A clever witch with a hex that makes the target come down with a stomach virus vs. an all-powerful Archangel. Who will win? (Spoiler: Not Gabriel, that's for damned sure)





	The Obligatory Sick Fic

**Author's Note:**

> Please be warned, poor Gabe is sick as a dog. If reading about someone barfing makes your stomach roll, this fic is NOT for you.

Gabriel was miserable. His whole body ached, his skin felt too hot, and his stomach was doing this nasty spinning, swirling thing. It was gross. And he was  _ exhausted, _ bone tired in a way that he’d never felt before. Dude, fuck witches. Fuck witches and their fucking weird hex bags full of fucking stupid purple powder. Just...just  _ fuck. _ He’d caught a face full of said powder, sneezed a few times, and burned her eyes out of her head just for screwing with the wrong Archangel -not that there was a  _ right  _ Archangel to screw with, but still. Discomfort increasing, Gabriel readjusted his position in the back seat of the Impala, head on Sam’s lap, and closed his eyes. That quickly proved to be a horrible mistake, because that nasty swimming sensation in his gut increased tenfold and his eyes popped open again. Gabriel groaned softly.

 

“Dude, quit being such a baby! You’re an Archangel for fuck’s sake. Suck it up.” Dean groused from the driver’s seat. Gabriel made a crude gesture at the back of his head but otherwise didn’t respond, which drew a concerned noise from Sam. The younger Winchester stroked Gabriel’s unruly hair in an attempt to comfort him. Gabriel appreciated the gesture and willingly submitted to his mate’s soothing touch- not that he really had the strength to protest, anyways.

 

A few miles later, Dean snagged a pothole a bit too roughly, cursing a blue streak and apologizing to his Baby. He was making so much noise about it that no one noticed the soft whimper from Gabriel, nor the way his throat clicked as he swallowed convulsively. His skin suddenly went cold and clammy as his gut took the worst summersault yet. Confused, more than a little frightened, and horribly uncomfortable, Gabriel desperately yanked at Sam’s sleeve.

 

“Gabe, wha- Oh,  _ shit!  _ Pull over!” Dean cranked the wheel over obediently, three decades of training forcing him to comply with that tone regardless of the situation, and Sam lunged for the door handle. Too damned late. Gabriel choked violently as his lunch made a reappearance on the floorboards and Sam’s boots.

 

Dean whipped around to see what the hell the commotion was and swore loudly. “Son of a bitch!” Sam got the door open and hauled Gabriel out onto the grass, where he continued to cough and puke until he was spitting yellow bile. Sam crouched next to him, supporting his sweaty forehead in one hand and rubbing his back with the other.

 

“It’s ok, babe. You’re ok. I’ve got you.” The younger man murmured.

 

Dean snarled under his breath before pointing an accusing finger at the stricken ArchHerald. “No it fucking isn’t ok! He blew chunks all over the back seat! And since when do angels get sick in the first place? He’s cleaning it up or I’ll mop it up with his hair!”

 

Sam turned a whole new bitchface on his big brother, one comprised mostly of incredulity and a healthy dose of anger. “Dude, what the hell is your problem?! He’s sick, leave him alone! And I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve hurled in the car, so I don’t want to fucking hear it!” 

 

Whatever Dean’s increasingly angry response was going to be was cut off by Gabriel gagging again and Castiel clamping a firm hand on his hunter’s shoulder. The Seraph made sure that Dean was making eye contact with him before snapping his fingers. The mess vanished, leaving Dean with a sheepish expression, and Castiel turned away from his mate to help comfort his older brother. He brushed his fingertips over Gabriel's damp forehead, frowning in confusion when he couldn’t simply cure the bout of illness.

 

“What…. What in Dad’s name was that?” Gabriel gritted out, spitting in a weak attempt at clearing the nasty taste out of his mouth. 

 

“You’ve never thrown up before?” Sam let go of Gabriel’s hair and helped him to sit back on the grass, away from the mess. The shorter angel shook his head miserably. 

 

“Angels, as a rule, don’t really get sick in any way. We’re above all that mortal crap.” 

 

“Well, apparently not.” Dean snorted, earning a filthy glare in triplicate. He wisely shut his mouth rather than dig that hole any deeper. Sam asked for, and received, a bottle of water and helped Gabriel rinse his mouth out. He noted with concern that the angel’s skin was still a sickly grey color and that his eyes had lost some of their vibrancy, making him worry that this was just the beginning of whatever was wrong with his boyfriend. 

 

“Come on, let's get you loaded back up.” Gabriel nodded weakly and cringed when he saw the state of Sam’s boots. Before he could even snap his shaking fingers, Cas beat him to it and Sam smiled gratefully. He didn’t particularly care about this set of boots- being a hunter meant he destroyed clothes on a routine basis and didn’t get attached to them, but he still hadn’t wanted to get back in the car covered in sick. Dean rummaged through the trunk until he found a bucket, which he presented to the Archangel with a grimace.

 

“Here. Puke on my upholstery again and I’ll roast you in holy oil.” Dean yelped when Castiel whacked him over the head, and Sam resigned himself to a miserable trip back to the bunker. 

 

oooooOOOOOooooo

 

Gabriel didn’t understand what was going on with his vessel. He’d never so much as caught a sniffle before, never mind puke his guts up. He leaned against Sam’s shoulder, clutching the stupid bucket desperately, and whimpered. Sam’s pitying looks weren’t really helping Gabriel’s battered ego, either. The younger hunter was just trying to help, but that didn’t make the pity any easier to swallow. And speaking of swallowing… Gabriel went green and buried his head in the bucket again, whimpering plaintively. 

 

Sam winced and resumed rubbing Gabriel’s back soothingly. He wasn’t sure how much that actually helped, but he had to do  _ something! _ He’d tried to pour some pepto bismol down Gabriel’s throat- the next wave of vomiting had been neon pink and now Gabriel retched any time he saw the stuff. Great. It broke Sam’s heart into a million jagged little pieces to see his mate so miserable and uncomfortable. The Archangel looked like a small child, frightened by their body rebelling and not able to understand  _ why _ they felt so horrible. Sam sighed and encouraged the sick man to drink some water.

 

Gabriel shook his head petulantly. “Don’t wanna.” 

 

“Look, Gabe. Nothing seems to be able to make it stop, so you need to keep something on your stomach. Otherwise you’re just going to puke bile, and that hurts more than anything else.” Sam knew that from gruesome experience. He’d gone through a stage of being extremely car sick as a kid, during a huge growth spurt that had screwed his inner ear up. Their dad had finally gotten fed up with Sam’s constant motion sickness and dumped him and Dean on Bobby for the summer. Gabriel groaned weakly and obediently sipped the lukewarm water.

 

“Almost home.” Dean tried to sound concerned about Gabriel, but Sam knew he was just thinking about Baby’s interior. The older hunter had been smacked upside the head repeatedly for mocking the stricken angel. Even Castiel threatening to withhold sex -and Goddamn had Sam not wanted to hear that!- hadn’t discouraged Dean’s almost gleeful mockery. Sam was considering upending Gabriel’s puke bucket over his brother’s head. Ten minutes later, they whipped into the bunker’s garage and Gabriel able to stagger out of the car, ghost white and trying not to retch again. Sam gathered his mate into his arms and carried him down to the living room, noting with alarm that Gabriel didn’t even pretend to protest at being toted around like a swooning bride. Castiel followed along with the freshly cleaned bucket, leaving Dean to unload the car by himself. 

 

With Gabriel safely settled onto the couch with a fresh bottle of Gatorade and Mythbusters reruns, Sam and Cas were able to put their heads together and determine the source of Gabriel’s illness. The hex bag that Sam had sealed up in a ziplock and its purple powder were the most likely candidate- Gabriel had been the only one to get a facefull of the crap, and Gabriel was the only one barfing his guts up. Two and two makes four. Without knowing the exact contents of the dust, there was no way to make an antidote. Gabriel would just have to tough it out until it wore off. The news was met with an almost malicious grin from Dean and a weak sob from Gabriel. Sam considered punching his brother- it was no secret that Dean still harbored some ill will towards the being that had killed him over a hundred times and stuck him in a series of idiotic TV shows. Most of the time he kept a lid on it, engaging with the angel peacefully, but once in a while resentment reared its ugly head. Apparently, this was going to be one of those times, and Sam confronted him about it in the kitchen.

 

“Dean, lay off. He’s sick and miserable, have some compassion.” Sam scolded, throwing a cracker at Dean’s head when the other man snorted with laughter.

 

“Like Hell. The bastard killed me with food poisoning once. Just desserts.” 

 

Sam glared. “You don’t even  _ remember _ that! You don’t remember any of the ways he offed you, you’re just being a jerk for no reason.” 

 

“Whatever, bitch. Go play nursemaid.” Castiel took in the brothers’ verbal sparring with a dark frown and turned to Sam. 

 

“Sam, if you will be attending to Gabriel, would you mind if I slept in your room tonight?” A spark of smug amusement crossed the Seraph’s face when Dean sputtered indignantly. 

 

“Why the hell would you want to sleep in Sam’s room?!” Dean growled, glaring at Sam as though this was all his fault somehow. Sam busied himself with the applesauce he was dishing out.

 

“Because I have no intentions of engaging in intercourse with you while you are being so petty to the only brother I care about. Why would I spend the night in  _ your _ bed?” Castiel deadpanned. Sam made a quick exit with his tray of bland, easy to keep down foods as the couple started arguing in earnest. 

 

Gabriel was right where Sam had left him, curled into a ball on the couch with his bucket clutched in his arms. For a moment, Sam worried that the soft sounds he could hear was Gabriel retching again, but then he realized that it was sobs. Gabriel was crying, soft and miserable, and Sam felt his heart sink into his shoes. He set the tray down on the coffee table and gathered his sick lover into his arms, stroking his hair while Gabriel wept.

 

“This-this-this-sucks!” Gabriel stuttered around his tears. Sam kissed his temple and nodded.

 

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I wish I could make it go away.” The hunter felt helpless in the face of an angel with a stomach virus. He could gank vampires and demons and wendigos all day long, but a witch magically tampering with his mate’s immune system? Bumpkiss. “Here, you should eat something.” Gabriel shook his head miserably. “Come on, at least have some crackers. Bile, remember? Sucks big time.” 

 

Gabriel snorted weakly. “This whole thing sucks big time. I’m an  _ angel, _ I shouldn’t have do deal  with all this shitty mortal crap!” He nibbled at the saltine that Sam poked against his lips. Little by little, Sam coaxed him into consuming the bland crackers, toast, and applesauce. When it didn’t immediately reappear, Gabriel gave him a weak but hopeful smile and curled into Sam’s chest. The hunter chuckled and rearranged them until they were laying sprawled on the couch, Gabriel’s back to Sam’s chest, with a mop of blonde curls tucked under Sam’s chin. 

 

“Just rest, ok?” Sam pressed another kiss to Gabriel’s hair, smiling when the angel’s breathing settled out and he seemed to doze off.  The illness was sapping Gabriel’s energy, leaving him pale and weak, and Sam was grateful that he was able to try to rest. He wondered how long it would last.

oooooOOOOOooooo

 

An episode and a half was apparently the limit of Gabriel’s respite. He had woken up in the first few minutes of a new round of explosions, courtesy of Adam and Jamie, and watched quietly for a bit. But now he was starting to feel uncomfortable again. He could hear Sam snoring softly against his ear and tried to bite back a whimper, not wanting to disturb his mate. The food Sam had gotten him to eat earlier churned in his stomach and Gabriel clamped down on the sensation, swallowing hard as he fought it tooth and nail. 

 

Sam must have felt Gabriel shifting around because he was quickly awake and alert again, taking in the green tint to Gabriel’s pale and clammy skin. He sighed in sympathy and carefully gathered his love’s hair in one palm. “Poor baby.” Sam whispered, petting Gabriel’s temple with his free hand. Gabriel trembled and shook his head harshly, swallowing against the surge of saliva in his mouth.

 

“I don’t wanna…!” Gabriel choked out, tears gathering in his eyes again.

 

Sam hummed softly. “I know, baby. I know. It sucks so bad, but there’s no fighting it.”

 

Still, Gabriel resisted. Over and over, he swallowed down the urge to retch, his back going tense against Sam’s chest as he fought it. He was shaking violently now, pulling harsh breaths through his nose, and it hit Sam like a ton of bricks.

 

“Gabe, are you...are you scared of this?” The angel whined softly, the trickle of saline on his cheeks redoubling, and he tried to shake his head in denial. That just made the nausea worse and he quickly abandoned his protests.

 

“It’s just so horrible! I hate it!” He shuddered hard, throat convulsing. Sam shifted his hands to support Gabriel’s forehead and trembling stomach. 

 

“You  _ are _ scared of it, aren’t you? Not just upset… throwing up frightens you.” There was nothing but understanding, sadness, and pity in Sam’s voice. Gabriel fucking hated it and he fought down both the urge to deny Sam’s observations and the need to puke.

 

“N-n-no!” This time Gabe actually had to swallow a mouthful of hot fluid and he shuddered harshly. He dug his nails into his palms until he was close to bleeding, but even that didn’t stop the awful sensation. 

 

“I know it's awful but you’ll feel better when it’s over. I promise.” Gabriel shook his head stubbornly and Sam realized he was going to have to help things along. He gently applied pressure to Gabriel’s stomach, pressing up and in just a bit, and winced when it worked. The angel heaved, sobbing deep gasps between waves of sick. Sam held him tight. Finally it seemed to subside and Sam set the bucket aside so he could cradle his bawling mate. 

 

After a few minutes, the tears eased and Gabriel went limp against Sam’s chest, wrung out in the worst way. Castiel slipped into the room, cleaning up the mess and handing over a fresh bottle of water without saying a word before dropping into a recliner and seeming to focus on the TV. Mythbusters wasn’t even a show that the Seraph liked, and Sam knew this was him trying to subtly check on his big brother without making the more powerful angel feel crowded or weak. The younger Winchester appreciated Castiel’s subtlety- the only thing that could possibly make Gabe feel even worse was pity. They sat in silence for a while before Dean traipsed in, noisily chewing on a hamburger. Sam barely got the bucket back in front of Gabriel in time, and a furious glare in Dean’s direction resulted in a smug grin- the older hunter knew  _ exactly _ what he had done and was amused by it! Sam’s blood ran cold.

 

“Dean, you absolute bastard.” Sam snarled, low and dangerous. The other man gave him a mocking smirk.

 

“Oh get over it, Samantha. I’m hungry. Not my fault that short stack’s blowing chunks constantly.” 

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sam asked softly, too light and conversational to be anything but blinding rage.  _ That _ brought Dean up short and his eyes went wide as he realized that he hadn’t just crossed a line, he’d done a gleeful tapdance on a landmine. 

 

“Shit, I’m sorry man-”

 

“No, fuck you! The poor guy’s sick, miserable, and a fucking emetophobe to boot, and you’re just mocking him for it! Get bent, Dean. That’s seriously fucked up.” With one last bitter look at his older brother, Sam gathered his angel into his arms and made for the bathroom. The sound of Castiel screaming at Dean echoed down the hallway behind him, but Sam couldn’t even bring himself to be amused, not when Gabriel was so horribly ill. With one hand, Sam laid a towel on the floor in front of the toilet. He tenderly set his mate down on it, propping the lid up in case he needed it, and turned to start a hot bath. He dumped in a fairly absurd amount of bubbles, hoping that the cheerful suds would help improve Gabriel’s mood, and helped the hiccuping angel strip his dirty clothes off. Sam followed suit. He carefully helped the angel to his feet, supporting him as he wavered, and guided him into the tub. Once they were settled back-to-front again, Sam resumed gently massaging Gabriel’s stomach. 

 

“I’m sorry Dean’s such a dick.” The angel merely shrugged, too worn out to even respond. Sam’s chest clenched and he reigned in the wave of anger that surged through him. “I’ll kick his ass for you if that’ll make you feel better.” That got a weak chuckle before Gabriel went silent once more, resting his full weight on the larger frame of his lover. Sam had to remind Sammy-Junior to calm the fuck down when he perked up reflexively. The pair stayed like that until the water ran cold and Sam reluctantly pulled the plug. He helped Gabriel up and kept him upright while they showered off. Midway through a hair washing, Gabriel was struck by another wave of nausea and Sam eased him down to his knees so he could spit Gatorade down the drain instead of all over his feet. He ignored the pathetic whimpers and sobs as he rubbed Gabriel’s stomach firmly, helping him bring it up. Sam finished soaping and rinsing Gabriel on the slick tiled floor. 

 

Once Gabriel was safely bundled into their bed, dressed in his favorite fleece lounge pants and one of Sam’s well-worn shirts and tucked under the blankets, Sam began to plot. He left his mate in bed with a trash can nearby, citing the need to get more fluids for the sick angel. A quick trip to the dark library later, he had his prize- the blasted hex bag that had set all this off in the first place. Sam slunk into the kitchen and dug through the fridge until he found the slice of pecan pie that Dean had stashed away behind the nearly expired milk. He almost felt bad about what he was about to do. Almost. But then he remembered the malicious smirk Dean had worn when he’d been chowing down on his burger, and the remorse evaporated. He pulled out a pinch of the dust and spread it over the surface of the pie before washing his hands thoroughly- whatever was in this crap, it seemed to need to go in through a mucous membrane to start working and he did  _ not _ want to be hurling, too. He disguised the dust under a layer of whipped cream and put the pie back on the shelf. Trap set, Sam scampered back to the bedroom to check on Gabriel, who he was relieved to find snoozing peacefully. Sam gathered his mate into his arms and settled in to keep an eye on him. 

 

The waves of nausea got further and further apart until about twelve hours after the initial exposure, Gabriel seemed to finally be over it. Exhausted but with a steady stomach, he talked Sam into letting him go back out to the living room so he could watch Die Hard on the big screen. Sam put up a token protest but allowed it, happy to see Gabriel feeling more like himself. He knocked together a protein shake for the recovering man, forcing him to sip it slowly just in case, and joined Gabriel in his blanket nest. Ten minutes in, Dean sidled into the room, pie in hand. Sam bit his lip to stop himself from smirking as the older Winchester offered a stuttering but sincere apology, which Gabriel accepted with unusual good grace. The glint in his eyes told Sam that he was actually plotting revenge, and the hunter allowed himself a tiny smirk. 

 

John McClane was cussing his way through the air vents when it happened. Dean cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. A moment later, he coughed wetly. His face went ashen and Dean lunged to his feet, hand clamped over his mouth, and sprinted out of the room. Sam snickered. Gabriel turned to eye his hunter, who affected his very best innocent smile.

 

“You devious little shit.” There was definitely pride in Gabriel’s voice, even as hoarse as it was. 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

 

Gabriel chuckled. “Uh-huh. I wish I’d met you a few hundred years ago, Sammitch. You’d have made one hell of a Trickster.” 

 

Sam just grinned. 


End file.
